


Cold Mornings

by hammerfistninja



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humour, welcome to het hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammerfistninja/pseuds/hammerfistninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pyrrha gets back from her early morning run and regrets that she didn’t take Jaune with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Mornings

Unlocking the door with a quick swipe of her scroll, Pyrrha nudged softly back into the room, mindful of the still dreadfully early hour. The dorm was blissfully warm and it made her cold skin tingle almost painfully. Even after being in Vale for almost three years, she still wasn’t used to the cold. Her fingers and toes felt like ice cubes and rest of her body was close to freezing.

Slipping her runners off, she eyed her still sleeping teammates enviously.

Nora and Ren were huddled up on their beds which had long been pushed together, and though Pyrrha couldn’t tell for sure, she imagined they were in their usual sleeping position - Ren on his side and Nora clinging to his back like a baby koala.

And then there was Jaune. Just looking at him, completely hidden and curled up under his covers, made her scowl and regret her merciful decision to let him sleep this morning, instead of dragging him out to run with her like she usually did.

One of Jaune’s socked feet was sticking out from under the protection of the covers, the barest hints of skin visible. Pyrrha grinned wickedly.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, she thought to herself as she slid her fingers around the bare skin of Jaune’s ankle.

He shrieked her name into his pillow, voice muffled by it and the thick comforter covering his head, and yanked his foot back under the covers before she could get a good grip on it. “Nooooooooooo,” he wailed pitifully, still sounding groggy from sleep.

Her grin only grew in size. Carefully, quietly, she walked to the side of his bed, opposite of where her bed was situated. Aura pulsed around her hand and her semblance flared to life. The metal of her bed frame creaked, groaning like it always did when she sat down on it.

Bait laid, trap set, and now all she had to do was wait.

The covers ruffled and Jaune’s unruly mop of hair stuck out from under them, looking towards Pyrrha’s bed. By the time he realized she was behind him, her icy fingers were already pressed against the back of his neck.

His shriek went unmuffled this time, tearing through the room and probably waking their teammates as well as several of their neighbors in the adjoining rooms.

“Oh my god, Jaune, shut up,” Yang yelled from across the hall.

Pyrrha collapsed on top of him, holding him in a headlock and trapping his legs as he tried to squirm away.

“Pyrrha, nooooo. You’re hands are like ice, Pyrrha, why?” He dragged the last syllable into a wail and went limp in her arms, realizing that, like always, he would not win a physical struggle with his girlfriend.

What had once been a quest for revenge had become a quest for heat, and Pyrrha found herself frustrated with the fact that most of Jaune was still separated from her by his comforter. She let him go, acknowledging his admittance of defeat. “Let me under the covers, Jaune.”

“No.” He rolled away and pressed his face back into the pillow. Even through the comforter, her calf felt like a giant icicle against his thigh. “Get your own.”

Her hands curled around the edge of the comforter and tugged softly in warning. “If you insist,” she said.

“Wait, wait—wait.” Jaune stammered. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that Pyrrha’s threat to steal his covers was genuine and that he would probably end up bruised and on the floor if she went through with it, which would be more painful in the long run than just letting her cuddle. He sighed and lifted one corner of the blankets. “Fine, get in.”

She slipped under the covers, smiling triumphantly, and immediately pressed against him, throwing a leg over his waist as she cupped his chin and kissed him. He made a soft noise of distress because even her tongue was cold. It was like kissing an ice cube!

He grumbled as she pulled away, cold fingers rubbing his jawline, brushing over the light stubble there. “You need to shave,” she murmured.

He tried to kiss her again but she dodged it. “And you have morning breath.”

He glared. First she woke him up by torturing him with her icy digits, and now she wouldn’t even let him kiss her? He huffed and rolled away from her, presenting her with his back, but she just snuggled up to it, face pressed to the back of his neck and arms circling around his waist. Her hands snuck under the hem of his shirt, pressing against the warm skin of his stomach. The icy touch made him flinch, gasping in shock, and he tried to push away from the painfully cold touch, but it only pressed him against her body even more.

She hummed, content, remembering why it was she didn’t take Jaune on her early morning runs in the winter - apart from the fact that he spent the whole time complaining about the cold. His warmth permeated her skin, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, dozing pleasantly. “You’re so warm.”

He squeaked as her hands slid even higher, resting over his ribcage and sucking the warm from his lungs. “Your fingers are like ice cubes,” he complained. “If you could freeze them twice.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ren groaned from the other side of the room, half-asleep.

Jaune didn’t even bother trying to explain his metaphor, just adjusted his pillow and listened to the rhythm of Pyrrha’s heart. “Comfortable?” he asked her, because he wasn’t. His whole body was covered in gooseflesh, and the cold had shocked him awake to the point where he was sure he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.

She hummed again, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply. Instead her breathing evened out and she fell asleep against his back in her usual position - spooning him, with her leg thrown about his waist, hands still tucked under his shirt. Jaune sighed and adjusted his pillow again. Of course Pyrrha got to go back to sleep while he froze to death in her ice cold grip.

“Great,” he muttered.

But he still slid his hand over hers and threaded their fingers together all the same.


End file.
